


Jam Tomorrow

by Persiflager



Series: Jam [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-04
Updated: 2013-11-04
Packaged: 2017-12-31 12:26:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1031698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persiflager/pseuds/Persiflager
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for <a href="http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/21766.html?thread=128673542#t128673542">this prompt</a>.</p><p>Lestrade finds himself in possession of Sherlock and John's 'home movie' and doesn't quite manage to resist watching it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jam Tomorrow

Greg dropped the stack of case files onto his coffee table with a sigh of relief. Bringing work home wasn’t ideal but at least he’d managed to retrieve these from Baker Street without too much hassle. (Thank Christ for John Watson. Lets him in when Sherlock’s out, says ‘help yourself’ and even makes him a cup of tea.)

So, one evening of checking through to make sure nothing was missing and then he’d be able to put them all back in the stacks before the file review. Easy.

…

Greg had nearly finished when a DVD fell out of one of the files onto the floor. He picked it up and frowned at it - no case, no label, and he didn’t remember any of these last cases having any video evidence. Bugger. He stood up with a stretch (his own fault for doing this on the sofa instead of on the fancy office chair gathering dust in the spare bedroom) and crossed the room to stick it in the DVD player. The machine whirred into life as he stood there, remote control in hand, and -

Hello. Definitely not evidence.

The screen showed, with beautiful clarity, Sherlock Holmes stretched out stark naked on a bed that Greg would swear blind was in the downstairs bedroom at Baker Street. He recognised the fancy wallpaper and the framed poster of the periodic table in the background.

Greg pressed pause. If this was what he thought it was, he should eject the disc immediately. Never mind that Sherlock had invaded his privacy more often than a Sun journalist trying to get a scoop, and never mind that they’d both assume he’d watched it anyway. 

Maybe he should watch a few seconds more, just to check.

He pressed play. Nothing happened for a moment, then the bathroom door swung open and John walked in wearing a dressing gown. Which he then dropped straight on the floor. Hel- _lo_ , Dr Watson.

Greg pressed pause again. This wasn’t right.

Five minutes later he sat back down on the sofa with his trousers off, shirt undone, a box of tissues at his side and a freshly opened bottle of cold beer on the coffee table in front of him.

“Alright then, lads,” he said to the screen, “show me what you’ve got.”

…

What they had, apparently, was much the same as normal but with their clothes off.

“No,” said Sherlock for the third time, “not like that. You need to tilt your head so that the camera can see you.”

John was kneeling in between Sherlock’s legs looking exasperated. “Couldn’t you just bend your knee?” At least that confirmed that John was in on it. Greg wouldn’t put it past Sherlock to film them having sex without bothering to mention the camera, in which case Greg really would have had to stop watching.

“No, that would spoil the symmetry.”

“Sod the symmetry. It’s only going to be us watching this, anyway.”

Sherlock raised himself up his elbows and pouted. It looked so ridiculous that Greg laughed out loud. “But John,” he rumbled, “I’ve been thinking about this for _ages_. Don’t you want it to be perfect?”

“You already pulled that face to get me to do this,” said John, unmoved. “Do you want this blowjob or not?”

“Good for you,” said Greg out loud. “Don’t take any of his nonsense.”

“Oh alright.” Sherlock flopped back onto his back in a manner entirely unbefitting a man who was about to get his cock sucked. Utter bastard. Greg hadn’t had a blowjob since Labour were in power. 

John bent down and took Sherlock’s cock into his mouth. It was quite a pretty cock, from what Greg could see (Sherlock was right about the camera angle). More importantly, John was sucking it like an absolute fucking champ. Oh, he was getting stuck right in there - head bobbing up and down, right hand working the shaft in tandem, left hand doing god knows what underneath. And the sounds he made were downright _filthy_. 

Greg took a big swig of his beer and let his free hand drift down to squeeze his cock - yes, definite promise there.

This wasn’t his first foray into watching gay porn; when it came to getting his end away, Greg was all about equal opportunities. Ok, he’d never shagged a bloke outside of his imagination, but the same could be said of most of his encounters with women. Sex, in Greg’s frustrated experience, was always jam tomorrow.

He turned his attention back to the screen. Sherlock seemed to be enjoying himself, arching his back and moaning like he’d just found three corpses in a bank vault. He even grabbed John’s head and pushed it up and down a bit, which Greg thought was taking a liberty but John didn’t seem to mind. Greg found his hips thrusting a little in time with Sherlock’s, and he imagined what it would be like to have John’s fair head in between his thighs.

Then Sherlock pushed John’s head away, the mad git!

“Stop,” he said, all husky. “I don’t want to come yet.”

John raised his face from between Sherlock’s legs. “What do you want?” And of all the things Greg had ever envied Sherlock for, this might be at the top of the list - that he had a partner who was generous in bed, who’d do what Sherlock wanted without negotiating something in return. Who got him off so well and so often that Sherlock could take it for granted.

“I want you to fuck me.”

Oh _yes_. Greg’s cock gave a twitch at that.

“Alright.” John grinned up at Sherlock before sliding up the bed for a kiss. Greg looked away for a moment and drank his beer - kissing was a bit too intimate to watch, somehow.

When he looked back, John was straddling Sherlock’s stomach and stroking his cock. It was long and thick with a nice plump head, and Greg’s mouth watered just looking at it. 

Greg whistled. “Someone was at the front of the queue when knobs were being handed out,” he said to himself. John was clearly a grower, as Greg hadn’t noticed anything worth writing home about earlier. 

Sherlock sat up a bit and John guided his cock in between Sherlock’s lips.

“Ah, that’ll shut him up,” said Greg happily. “Go on, fuck his mouth.”

But John just let Sherlock suck for a little while before he pulled back. John climbed off and went over to the bedside table, returning with a bottle of lube. Sherlock rolled over onto his front and John settled himself back between Sherlock’s legs.

Greg took the opportunity to take his pants off. He was properly hard now, and if they were about to start fucking in earnest then it wouldn’t take him long to get off. His cock sprang free and he gave it a few indulgent strokes, pushing the foreskin up over the head and back again, grunting in pleasure as the sensation sparked in his balls.

He looked up to see that John’s hand had disappeared between Sherlock’s legs and his shoulder was working rhythmically to and fro. Sherlock really liked being fingered, judging by the noises he was making.

“I said that’s - _uh_ \- enough, John. I’m more than ready.”

“Not til I say so.”

“ _John_.”

“Oh, fine. Come on then.”

Sherlock raised himself up on his hands and knees and glanced at the camera, making Greg jump. For a moment it had felt as if he’d been caught peeking through the window. 

“Like this,” said Sherlock after adjusting his position slightly.

John nodded and knelt up behind Sherlock. He took himself in hand, lined up, and slowly pushed in until his cock was buried in Sherlock’s arse.

Greg was frankly impressed. Sherlock had taken every inch without a whimper of complaint, and he looked utterly blissed out.

“How are you doing?” asked John.

“Fan- _tas_ -tic.”

“Good.” And John started thrusting slowly in and out, nice and steady, hands on Sherlock’s hips for leverage.

Greg stroked himself in time with John and let his mind wander. 

_Imagine if I joined in. Sherlock could suck my cock - his mouth’s free, and those big lips were made for it. I’d get a blowjob and a lovely view. Or John could, if I stood over Sherlock - no, that’s a bit tricky. Or - oh yeah, I could get in at the other end, take John up the arse while he fucked Sherlock. I wonder if they ever swap round. He’s got a nice firm little arse, I bet he’d be tight as fuck._

“Harder.”

Sherlock was panting now, and Greg would bet he wasn’t far off begging. 

John gave him a couple of good hard thrusts, then pushed between Sherlock’s shoulder-blades. “Down.” Sherlock went down, twisting his head to one side so that his weight was resting on his neck and shoulder. He put his right hand flat on the bed for balance and bent his left arm up behind his back. His face was turned towards the camera but his eyes were closed.

John caught Sherlock’s left hand in his, threading his fingers through Sherlock’s so that they were tightly gripped together, just above the small of Sherlock’s back. The tense line of their joined arms formed the hypotenuse of the obscene triangle that was their bodies. With his right hand John took a firm hold of Sherlock’s right hip, and then he pulled back and started really fucking.

Greg’s mouth hung open. With the extra leverage Sherlock had provided John was able to thrust even harder, and he was going for it.

“Faster, _fuck_ , like that!”

John was pounding away like a jackhammer, his hips pistoning back and forth, his face screwed up in concentration. Sherlock, though … Sherlock looked like all his Christmases had come at once.

“Well, aren’t you a lucky boy,” murmured Greg. “Getting a seeing-to like that. I hope you appreciate it.”

Sherlock’s moans blurred together as John’s thrusts sped up. Greg spread his legs wide and fondled his bollocks with his left hand, pushing them up to the base of his cock as he jerked himself fast with his right hand, hips thrusting up in time with the movement on screen.

“Nearly there, come on,” he muttered, staring at the screen. “Jesus, you’re such a pair of tarts.” John’s chest was sheened with sweat and Sherlock’s face was contorted in ecstasy, staring right at him. For a moment Greg could believe that they were right in front of him, performing for his benefit. 

“That’s it,” he groaned, “give it to him hard.” He imagined coming all over them, painting them with his come, and the thought was enough to finally tip him over the edge. His orgasm rose from his knees and shot through him like a rocket, blasting through his body in an explosion of pleasure that seemed to last forever and left him bent- over double and heaving for breath. 

“Ah, fucking _hell_ ,” he wheezed as the aftershocks shivered through him. “Christ.” 

On screen Sherlock let out a wail and arched his back even further as he came. John followed shortly after with a few rough jerks and one deep thrust so that he finished balls-deep and draped over Sherlock’s back. 

With the clarity that comes immediately after orgasm, Greg was suddenly, acutely aware that he was sitting alone on his sofa wearing only his shirt and his socks. Come was pooling stickily on his stomach.

Sherlock and John were cuddling and kissing now, whispering soft things that Greg was glad he couldn’t hear. The intimacy was a stark, horrible contrast to his lonely state. This hadn’t been the saucy threesome that he was imagining moments before - it had just been one sad bloke wanking to a recording of two of his best mates having sex. Pathetic.

Greg shook himself and stopped the DVD. He cleaned himself up with the tissues, pulled his pants back on and went in search of the take-away menu. A nice hot curry, that’d chase the blues away.

…

When he came down the next morning the disc had gone, which he’d half-expected. What he hadn’t expected was the note that Sherlock had left in its place. He read, and re-read it, and re-read it again, until his mouth was hanging open and he was late for work. He looked at the clock, swore, grabbed the case files, and dashed out of the door.

Later that day he was standing in the basement archives watching a tight-mouthed auditor flick through endless manila files. He snuck his phone out of his pocket and sent a quick text.

_I’ll be there at 8._

He tucked it away before the auditor looked up.

“Everything alright?” asked Greg in his most helpful manner.

“I’ve got a couple of questions …”

“Alright.” Greg could feel his phone buzz in his trouser pocket and couldn’t help himself smiling. “Brilliant.”

The auditor gave him an odd look. Greg didn’t even slightly care.


End file.
